


Pedal to the Metal

by idiopathology



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anal Fingering, Android Gavin Reed, Ass Play, Dry Orgasm, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enthusiastic Consent, GV200 is secretly soft, Heavy Petting, Just a Lot of Secret Softness in General, M/M, Nines is secretly soft, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Past Abuse (mentioned), Porn with Feelings, just a lot of sex in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 22:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16396319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiopathology/pseuds/idiopathology
Summary: “What happened in there–” begins Nines.“Sorry I fucked up,” Gavin interrupts, a little muffled. “I’m fucking sorry, all right? Let’s drop it.”“No,” says Nines, “that’s not–” because Gavin seems to be under the impression that Nines wants to reproach him for having to leave the assignment partway through. Like that’s what’s on Nines’s mind, and not– not the way that Gavin came completely unraveled against him, with nothing but their legs tangled with each other and a hand skimming across his chest. Like Gavin thinks it’s his fault for reacting the way he did.---Reverse AU. GV200 is incredibly responsive, as Detective Nines accidentally learns; in the process of Nines figuring out why, they both catch a lot of feelings. Or, GV200 suffers through six orgasms and one very persistent partner.





	Pedal to the Metal

The first time it happens, they're maybe two months into their partnership. Just two months since Fowler barked at him, _learn how to play nice and do us all a favor, Nines, you're a pain in everyone's ass._ Nines thought this was ridiculous. He didn't get to be star detective by playing nice, and it wasn't what was going to eventually get him the Captain's office, either. Partners had always only held him back, android or not. Results talked; clearance rates talked. No one could possibly argue with his numbers, which -- he figured -- is why they were arguing with his social graces instead.

"I'm not taking any questions," said Fowler. "Both of you, get out."

"Captain," said Nines, "this is nothing but inefficiency. I don't want--"

"It's Gavin," muttered the android, from under the hood of the Cyberlife-issued jacket he'd pulled low over his face. It was the first thing he'd said.

"What?" asked Nines.

"My name is Gavin," said the android, a little louder. He tapped his chest, where the designation _GV200_ flickered a pale blue. "At least use it when you tell me you don't want me."

Which wasn't an auspicious start, but Nines wasn't looking for auspice. Nines just needed GV200 to stay out of his way. It took two months for the uneasy truce to settle, and even then, it was abrasive. The passive-aggressive name-calling, GV200 blatantly refusing to take Nines's orders, cursing Nines out under his breath with a fouler mouth than anything that could have been programmed into him, glowering at Nines every available chance he got, and still -- despite it all -- trailing always by Nines's side at every crime scene and assignment, half a step behind him like they'd been shackled together, complaining all the way. Deviants. If everything else was the way he'd broken, that part of it at least was just the way he'd been made, Nines supposed.

  


At the two-month marker, they get tasked with undercover surveillance. Nothing huge. There's a suspected red ice deal scheduled in a disreputable club, and they just need to be the eyes on the floor, keeping the rest of the team updated. It's not a difficult job; Nines has a sharp eye and he's good at not drawing attention to himself, and from what he's read in the dossier, GV200 was originally built for infiltration. Piece of cake.

GV200 shows up with his LED ditched, dressed in a v-neck tee he must have fished out of a thrift store bargain bin somewhere. Nines tells him so at the bar, where they can hear each other under the din of the dance floor.

"At least I blend in," says GV200. "What did you do, Google image search 'narc' and had your mother sew your costume?"

"There are plenty of patrons in black button-downs," retorts Nines, because he can't have his competence insulted. "I'm perfectly inconspicuous."

"You're right, my mistake," says GV200. "Must be just your face, then. You cop-looking piece of shit motherfucker."

He flips Nines off and pushes off of the bar, sauntering into the crowd. The lights stain his shirt, a blur of jeweled colors, and he's quickly lost in the mass of pulsing bodies. It's just as well; they can cover more ground this way, and Nines doesn't have the patience to play babysitter all night. It's fine.

It's not fine anymore when Nines gets jostled near the restrooms, hard enough that the side of his head knocks against the wall and his earpiece falls out. _Fuck,_ he thinks, feelingly, and attempts to search the floor as best as he can without getting trampled. It's absolutely no use. Either one of a thousand pairs of feet has already kicked it somewhere far away or it's been crushed underneath a heel. _No other choice, then_. Rubbing gingerly at his skull, Nines draws himself taller, scanning above the bobbing heads for a familiar form.

He finds GV200 somewhere in the vicinity of the VIP area, a little too close to the deal rendezvous point for comfort. Nines sees him from behind, grabs him by the upper arm and demands, "what are you doing?"

"Where's your earpiece?" GV200 asks, over his shoulder. "Where've you been?"

"Never mind," says Nines. "This is too close, we'll get spotted--"

"While you were off fucking around and filing your taxes in the champagne room, I've actually been working," says GV200. "The sight lines are all wrong. We move any further away, we lose our eye on the VIP area. What? You don't believe me?"

To his chagrin, Nines has to admit that GV200 has a point. It's risky, but in the absence of any alternative, a risk they have to take. Still, to be standing around like stiffs on the dance floor, clearly waiting for something, suspicious as shit, conferring with each other instead of making any effort to blend in--

"Like hell I'm blowing my cover on a cakewalk," says Nines, half to himself, and pulls GV200's body back flush against his.

"-- _What the fuck_ ," hisses GV200, immediately thrashing in his grip. Nines holds him in place with one hand on his hip, other splayed flat against his stomach.

"I can't reach your mic if you're standing three feet away from me," says Nines. "Mingle, Gavin."

Maybe it's the name -- Nines has never used it before simply out of sheer obstinacy, but this seems like the right moment for it, when Nines needs him to behave more than ever -- but GV200, _Gavin_ , stops fighting him. Nines thinks he hears a low grumble of something first, but Gavin does go quiet, letting Nines tug him closer.

They're the right height for this. Nines's mouth behind Gavin's ear where the mic is tucked away, Nines's nose nudging against-- what turns out to be surprisingly soft hair.

"Suspects still in place," says Nines.

"They copy," says Gavin.

Nines hums in acknowledgement. Later -- much later -- he'd regret how little he would remember about this. He was an observant man; he didn't get to be star detective by not being observant. It's just that in the moment, he has most of his attention trained on the furtive gestures in the VIP area, focused on the job he's meant to do, and the rest of him is running on autopilot.

It's the sort of dancing that goes on in establishments like these, not much more than that. Nines shifts his weight until his thigh slots in between Gavin's legs, the hand on Gavin's stomach flitting across his torso in idle exploration. Nines does briefly note to himself that Gavin's body is warm, but it's a passing fact he files away in the back of his brain, an observation largely relevant for being somewhat unexpected. The deafening bass line rumbles through them.

"Suspects negotiating package transfer," says Nines. "All units assemble in position."

He curls the hand at Gavin's hip, forming his palm to the curve of the iliac crest he finds there. It fits his hand neatly, which is-- pleasing in a distant sort of way, like meandering his way through a jigsaw puzzle. The bodies around them lurch in time to the rhythm, and Nines lets the waves move them back and forth, his clothed knee sliding against Gavin's inner thigh.

"Are the units in position?" asks Nines. "Do they copy?"

Gavin doesn't answer.

"I said, do they copy?" asks Nines, annoyed.

Still no answer from Gavin. _What is this bastard playing at now,_ thinks Nines.

" _Gavin_ ," Nines snarls, and yanks him forcefully around by the shoulder. Finally, Gavin stumbles to face him, and Nines can see him at arm's length, under the dim glow of the club. The sight of him catches Nines off guard, and all the irritation in him stutters to a halt. Gavin is--

Gavin is _wrecked._ His eyes are dark and unfocused, catching the lights when he tilts his head up to look at Nines. His cheeks are flushed -- _infiltration unit_ , some faraway rational part of Nines supplies for him, _the epidermal layer color-shifts Thirium blue to resemble human skin tones_ \-- and his lips are parted, bitten raw from where he must have been trying to keep himself quiet. Gavin sways a little on his feet, and Nines reaches out to steady him by the waist; the contact makes Gavin shudder and his eyes flutter closed, brows knitting with unmistakable pleasure.

"I--" Nines hears himself stammer, indistinct past the sudden buzzing of blood in his head. "Give me your earpiece. Gavin, give--"

It seems easier just to take it from him, when he's this far gone, so Nines puts his fingers to the shell of Gavin's ear-- and Gavin flinches at that, too, the muscles in his stomach jumping under Nines's hand.

"Go wait in the car," Nines tells him, searching out Gavin's eyes until he can be sure Gavin has heard and understood him. "I've got the rest of this. Just-- go wait, get out."

Gavin swallows as they look at each other, a shaky dip of his Adam's apple, and -- at last -- he gives a small nod.

"Okay," says Gavin, his voice a scratch barely audible through the noise of the club.

  


When the suspects are in custody, the special squad has cleared out, and the commotion inside the club ebbs back to its usual hubbub, Nines takes a deep breath and opens the driver's seat door of his car. Gavin is huddled in the passenger seat, knees to his chest, having put his jacket back on in the meantime. His hood is pulled over his face again, and his retrieved LED casts a dull red glow on the fabric inside.

Nines is unsure of where to start, or what exactly he wants to say. Just figuring out what the hell was going on, he figures, is a decent start.

"What happened in there--" begins Nines.

"Sorry I fucked up," Gavin interrupts, a little muffled. "I'm fucking sorry, all right? Let's drop it."

"No," says Nines, "that's not--" because Gavin seems to be under the impression that Nines wants to reproach him for having to leave the assignment partway through. Like that's what's on Nines's mind, and not-- not the way that Gavin came completely unraveled against him, with nothing but their legs tangled with each other and a hand skimming across his chest. Like Gavin thinks it's his fault for reacting the way he did.

But Gavin turns toward the window, clearly unwilling to talk about it anymore, and Nines is too thrown to push it any further. Instead they drive back to Central Station in silence, just the faint purr of the engine filling the air between them. When they arrive in the garage, Gavin jumps out of the car and quickly disappears towards the elevators without thanking him, but then again Nines supposes this would be an odd time to start being civil with each other. Maybe nothing happened at all. Maybe it doesn't matter.

In his bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, Nines thinks of the heat of Gavin's skin under his palms and presses his hands into the sheets.

  


It certainly seems as though Gavin has decided that nothing happened at all. In the morning he greets Nines with the same blend of insolence and irascibility that they've always reserved for each other. If there's a chance to confront Gavin about it, Nines misses it. It's easy to settle back into their old patterns; they snipe at each other, Gavin insults Nines's ancestry, Nines casts aspersions on Gavin's qualifications, and Gavin always follows half a step behind Nines at every crime scene.

If Nines sometimes stops a bit too abruptly and Gavin bumps into him, neither of them remarks on it. Nines doesn't growl at him to watch it and Gavin doesn't tell him to shove his head up a drainage pipe. That's how Nines knows -- despite the heavy tarp of familiarity that Gavin seems insistent on draping over it to keep it unseen -- that _something_ happened that night.

The second time it happens is just a few weeks after that. It's stupid, honestly. They're following up on some loose ends in the red ice bust, and Gavin heads to a warehouse by the docks to investigate while Nines fields questions from the Deputy Ops. Which is, in and of itself, a very dumb decision; what's the point of having to put up with each other as partners if they aren't actually going to accompany each other to sites?

But it happens. They get complacent and they try to do to much. So it shouldn't even come as a surprise when Nines's phone starts buzzing in the middle of the meeting, and he has to excuse himself to answer a disturbance call near the docks.

"Because we know GV200 went down there earlier today," says the dispatcher, "but the nature of the disturbance indicates that he is most likely not in any real danger--"

"So I guess he's just refusing to answer his phone out of spite," Nines snaps.

"Detective," says the dispatcher, "what we are saying is that in all likelihood--"

Nines hangs up before he throws his phone out the window of the moving car. He calls Gavin again, just for good measure, which makes it the twenty-third missed call. He thinks-- he doesn't let himself think. He doesn't give himself the luxury of figuring out the precise contours and depths of his dread, but he runs a red light and he clutches his phone in his pocket until the edges bite into his fingers.

At the warehouse, he knocks down a few more doors than he would advise someone else to do, and he doesn't strictly follow protocol on staying near cover. But the gang seems to have cleared out well in advance, wise to the scent of cops swarming in. The area is clear. Eventually, he hears-- he doesn't know which he hears first, the sound of Gavin's voice yelling, _hey, fuckheads,_  or the sound of Gavin's obnoxious air horn ringtone.

"You called upwards of seven thousand times," Gavin says as soon as Nines comes down the stairs into view. "I'm changing my ringtone, god it's annoying. Was it always that annoying?"

"Yes," says Nines, slipping his phone back into his pocket, his gun back into its holster.

"Well," says Gavin, "come on."

He's fine. They must not have had time to rough him up, since the DPD got there early enough. He's just trussed up in what seems like a haphazard yet diabolically complicated confusion of knots, restrained all the way from his hips to his wrists, with his hands bound above his head and the rope fastened to a meat hook in the low basement ceiling. Frowning, Nines picks at the knot securing Gavin's wrists together.

"No, idiot," says Gavin, swatting Nines's hands away. "Not that one, what kind of boy scout are you?"

"I wasn't," clarifies Nines.

"That's right, you're too dead inside to be allowed into the boy scouts," says Gavin. "The weight's being held on the lowermost knot, the upper ones are just keeping me upright. You have to undo the lowest one first, unless you want me to flip around and do some cirque du soleil shit while you're trying to get at the other ones."

"This is really a lot of direction to give to someone who effectively saved you from getting dismembered and sold for parts," says Nines, but traces down the vertical line of the knots anyway.

He sees the problem immediately. As it happens, there's a series of lowermost knots, which are all clustered around Gavin's posterior upper thighs-- specifically, along his clothed gluteal crease. They're much harder to fiddle with than a knot would be on a bonier part of the body. Nines considers how absurd the two of them must look to someone walking in; him kneeling behind Gavin with his face practically in Gavin's ass, examining it intently like it's a mystery he needs to solve.

It's-- honestly, it's... rather distracting. Gavin's built in a way that isn't really slight but isn't really stocky, either. He's -- and the choice of word would probably drive Gavin to apoplexy, but Nines thinks it's the right one -- kind of... curvy. Not in what would be considered a stereotypically feminine shape, but despite the trimness of his waist, there's a full swell to his pectorals and his ass, making him very-- _filled out_ , decides Nines.

What is he doing. Nines brushes his fingertips across the rope, careful not to touch Gavin just yet.

"Is it uncomfortable?" asks Nines.

"No, it's exactly like a very relaxing beach vacation," snipes Gavin. "Yes, it's fucking uncomfortable. Are you just going to stare all day or are you going to be useful?"

"If you insist," says Nines, and tries to quell the pounding of his blood. The knots are digging tightly into the lower curve of Gavin's ass, and Nines really doesn't see any way to work at them without-- there's no getting around it, he's just going to have to... touch him. A lot.

Even if what happened at the club on the night of the bust weren't constantly on Nines's mind, the way that Gavin suddenly goes still as soon as Nines slides his hand in under the rope ought to be reminder enough. Nines's hard knuckles dig into Gavin's ass, and as he wriggles his hand to attempt to gain some room for movement, he can't help but knead the supple flesh there without intending to.

"--Wait," says Gavin, breathless. "Isn't there another--"

"There really isn't," says Nines, as sympathetically as he can. He doesn't want to embarrass Gavin, not like this. Not in the way that made Gavin curl in on himself in the passenger seat, on their way back to Central Station. But there's also a part of Nines that doesn't exactly dislike this; a hot something coiling in his stomach as he finds his hands full of Gavin's ass, something inside him that goes hungry when Gavin trembles above him, his thighs falling open under his touch.

Mostly, Nines is managing less to undo any of the knots and more just to rub them across the swell of Gavin's ass. God, he's so sensitive. It doesn't make any sense. Gavin makes an honest-to-god sweet little noise in his throat, lit up just from this, just from having his ass played with for a few minutes over his clothes. His hands are twisted into fists around the rope, and his back keeps arching into the touch, no matter how still he tries to keep himself.

" _Nines_ ," gasps Gavin, softly. Nines's heart skips a beat and his hand slips, his knuckle dragging across the parted seam of Gavin's ass. It's just an instant, but Gavin must feel it like a caress-- he gives a full-body shudder and goes beautifully pliant, breath coming hot and shallow.

Finally, after what seems like a hundred years, a knot gives way. Nines swears quietly. When he presses the pad of his thumb into the divot left in the taut seat of Gavin's pants, he means for it to soothe, like a reassurance. Gavin doesn't seem to find it soothing, exactly, and lets out a helpless sound that shoots straight to Nines's cock.

Nines barely remembers the rest of it. Gavin is shaking above him, bitten-off moans slipping from his lips as his ass quivers in Nines's hands, and it's so much filthier than it has any right to be, both of them fully clothed and still broad daylight somewhere outside the musty warehouse basement. Nines doesn't understand any of it; why anyone should have made Gavin like this, what it was that Gavin did before he came to the DPD, and just how powerless his own resolve becomes when Gavin is laid out for him, his body so obscenely responsive.

By the time the last of the lowermost knots falls away, Nines is probably harder than he's ever been in his entire life. Gavin is positively incoherent. Knees stiff, Nines stands and moves to Gavin's front to check on him-- he barely seems to register where they are or what's happening anymore, just leans desperately into Nines's touch when he places an uncertain hand on Gavin's flushed cheek.

"Please," Gavin begs, open-mouthed, his lashes wet. "Nines, _ah_ \-- sorry, please."

Gavin is a hair-trigger away from the edge, his whole body thrumming with need. Under the part of his jacket, his untouched nipples are perked with arousal, straining against the thin fabric of his shirt and begging for attention. Nines could do anything to him, just the smallest brush anywhere and he would fall apart. Fuck, he's so lovely like this, messy dark hair and used mouth and bruised skin.

It doesn't take anything at all. Nines just presses his palm into Gavin's tenting front and Gavin is coming with a sob, dropping his feverish forehead to Nines's shoulder. Nines holds him through it, as orgasm wracks him and leaves him drained, panting wetly into the crook of Nines's neck. _Nines_ , he's sighing in that breathy voice of his, _Nines_ , like no one else could have done this to him. _Ah, god, Nines._

  


Gavin is a sticky ruin, wrapped in Nines's coat in lieu of being able to do anything more sanitary that would make him presentable, but he doesn't seem as upset as he did the last time they were at this rodeo. He leans back in the passenger seat, adjusting the angle until he seems at ease. Possibly, in Nines's estimation, it might also be difficult to be upset at your co-worker who has just literally saved your life and then spent the better part of half an hour fondling your ass until you came in his arms, moaning his name.

"I don't mean to pry," begins Nines.

"Seems like there's a good chance we'll be stuck parked at this dock until you do pry," says Gavin, "so pry away."

"Again, this is a whole lot of attitude from you, considering," says Nines.

"So pry, I said," retorts Gavin.

"For one thing--" says Nines, "can't you turn down your sensitivity settings? If that's what you wanted. If you were-- you seemed unhappy about it, before."

"I don't have the same settings that the mass-produced models do," answers Gavin, sounding bitter. "No sensitivity settings, no pain receptor settings. This is it."

"You were an infiltration unit, correct?" asks Nines. "But they just made one of you?"

"I was custom-built," says Gavin. "For the mob. That was back when Cyberlife was doing bespoke models on the side as trial runs. DPD raided the mob, I was part of what they confiscated, but-- it's a waste to let a functional android rot in an evidence locker."

"Forgive me if this is too blunt," says Nines, which might be the first time he has ever strung that series of words together, "but you're not a pleasure model. If you were built to infiltrate, I don't-- I guess I don't understand why your sensitivity levels are--"

"Don't be closed-minded, Nines," says Gavin. "The mob needs to get their rocks off too."

"...So they made..." Nines trails off, unsure.

"It's a variant on priming neural networks," says Gavin. "Just, back then, Cyberlife thought it would be a good idea to have core modules reflect early-stage user feedback very heavily. It was meant to ensure that each unit would adapt to the individual user and provide a satisfactory customizable experience." His mouth twists into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "In a way, they were right."

"They used you like a pleasure model," says Nines, it starting to dawn on him.

"They used me for whatever they could use me for," says Gavin. "Money's worth, and all that. I wasn't supposed to be like this, only everybody miscalculated. Cyberlife didn't think its customers would do as much as they did, and the mob didn't think I would adjust any more than I wanted to. Both were stupid fucking assumptions and they were wrong."

"Got it," says Nines.

Gavin seems about at the end of his tolerance for the subject matter, so Nines doesn't push it. Except-- there's just one more thing.

"In there, and that night at the club," says Nines. "Why do you apologize?"

Gavin is about to answer, but then appears to second-guess himself. He drums his fingers on the passenger side door, looking for something.

"Well," he says, at last, "wouldn't you?"

Maybe it's because he lets his erection flag instead of taking proper care of it, but that night, Nines finds that he can't sleep for the growing weight between his legs. Masturbation seems a chore to him, most of the time; but it comes easy to him then, and he doesn't even pretend to think about anything else but Gavin underneath him, the hot cherry glimmer of his LED lighting up the bedroom. Nines imagines his mouth at Gavin's ear, saying _it's okay, it's okay,_  over and over again. As he comes, he hears Gavin breathe out, _Nines_ , like a prayer.

  


Somehow, something jostles loose. Something changes. They'll never be civil to each other, but Nines realizes that _civil_ isn't what they want to be to each other, either. They're any number of other things. Somewhere along the road, they start laughing at each other's jokes; Nines stops ignoring Gavin's input on cases and Gavin stops bristling at the sight of Nines. At every crime scene, Gavin follows Nines, half a step behind him.

It's an understanding that grows into trust, and the trust turns to--

To what, Nines isn't exactly sure at first. He knows Gavin's eyes chase him when he thinks Nines isn't looking; he wonders if Gavin knows Nines does the same. Gavin worries his lower lip in the passenger seat of their squad car, looking very distracted as he watches Nines's hands on the steering wheel.

"Gavin," says Nines, "case briefing."

"What?" startles Gavin, jumping halfway out of his seat. "Oh, yeah. The-- of course." Then, instead of operating the tablet on his lap, he just says, "you know, you call me that so easily now."

"That's not true," says Nines. "I've never called you a case briefing in my life."

"You think you're so funny," says Gavin.

When Nines rummages through the classified sections of Gavin's dossier, he doesn't let on that he's done it, because he knows Gavin would hate it. But it's a lot to stomach. There are plenty of scars still flecked across Gavin's skin, but the ones that are left are only the ones that the Cyberlife warranty wouldn't cover. Gavin has been through eleven limbs, all told. Three forced shutdowns, one full system reset-- didn't even do him the favor of wiping his memory. Technically, since the DPD's evidence confiscation, Gavin has been government property. This last thing, Nines mentions to Gavin, curious to hear what he'd say. It doesn't seem to bother him very much.

"Technically, as a police employee," says Gavin, "so are you."

Nines supposes that as far as possession goes, belonging to the government is about as good as Gavin has ever had. Somewhere along the road, Nines discovers, he has started wishing that Gavin could have better. Something more than the hollow echo of Central Station after hours, docked to the charging port in the walls. Something a little more suited to Gavin, the careless stretch of his legs when he puts his feet up on the desks, the wild spark in his eyes when he drops onto a perp from a second-story fire escape. Something that Gavin might want for himself, perhaps.

Infuriatingly, Gavin gets the jump on him. After one too many times when Gavin catches Nines out at sea -- with his hand wavering near Gavin's hair, caught with the urge to tuck a curl behind his ear -- with his hand around Gavin's wrist to drag him away from a pointless fight, the grip lingering just a little longer than necessary -- Nines peels out of the parking garage to head home, and just as abruptly has to slam on the breaks when a shadow steps in front of the car.

"What the _fuck_ , Gavin!" he yells, heart a million miles a minute. "What are you doing? For fuck's sake!"

"I thought you wouldn't listen, otherwise," says Gavin, stepping round to the driver's seat side.

"Write me an e-mail, or talk to me at work tomorrow," says Nines, exasperated. "Can't it wait?"

Slowly, Gavin leans into the open window, his eyes half-mast, LED as red as it burns in Nines's dreams.

"You know you could have me," says Gavin, "if you wanted."

  


The third time it happens, Nines barely manages to wait until they've stumbled inside his apartment. He wouldn't have such compunctions, or more accurately, couldn't live up to such compunctions -- not with Gavin perched in his passenger seat the whole way home, biting at his bottom lip, something so nervous in his silence even though he was the one who issued the ultimatum by standing in front of Nines's car -- but that this was Gavin, after all, and touching him at all carried with it the distinct possibility that the evening would instantly start to spiral out of control.

Enticing as it is, what it takes to deny it is much more willpower than the considerable amount that Nines knows himself to be in possession of. Gavin only steps inside the doorway and has time to remark, "how do you clean--" before Nines is pushing him up against the door, locking it with one hand as the other grabs at Gavin's collar.

Gavin opens up so easily into the kiss, his mouth hot and silky. The flutter of his tongue meets Nines's, and Nines swallows away the achingly needy sound that Gavin makes. Gavin's hand stutters up to grasp at Nines's shirt, like trying to stave off drowning. An unsteady, aimless clench of his hand. Gavin doesn't physically need to stop for breath, being an android and all, but after a few moments his simulated breathing becomes erratic and his tongue starts to falter, so Nines has to let him go before he gets too overwhelmed. It's not a straightforward thing; Gavin tastes good, like a clean hint of summer fruit, and he keeps coming back in to lock their lips together, even as his grip on Nines's shirt grows weak and his knees begin to give out.

"Gavin, stop," Nines has to say.

He separates from Gavin with great difficulty, leaning him against the door to give him a chance to come back to it. Gavin's eyes are glazed over, his cock hard against Nines's thigh, which-- god. Nines will never tire of it.

"Haven't even touched you yet," says Nines, "and you're already like this."

"Don't tease," says Gavin, but it lacks any bite.

Nines tries to take Gavin's jacket off his shoulders. Shakily, Gavin tries to help as best as he can. The movement pulls his shirt tight across his chest, and Nines's whole mouth goes dry at the sight-- Gavin's peaking nipples are pressed against the fabric, so flushed that they're visible through the layer of frayed white cotton. It skyrockets past suggestive into the territory of the straight up obscene.

Impatient, Nines lets the jacket drop to the floor, and brushes the tips of his fingers across Gavin's chest, letting them catch slightly on the rise of his nipples. Gavin moans raggedly and shudders at the touch, pushing his chest out further to meet it. His hands come to fist in Nines's shirt again, flexing erratically.

"Look at you," whispers Nines, reverently. "Could you come just from this?"

"What do you think, fucking obviously," pants Gavin, attempting valiantly to roll his eyes but only managing something like a shaky upward glance.

"Why don't we see," says Nines, "how many times I can make you come before I touch your cock?"

Gavin stares at him like Nines is the worst thing he has ever seen. "How did I get caught up with you," he mutters. "It should be illegal for an officer of the law to spew that kind of filth."

Nines figures that the least he can do is fully deserve the complaint. He dips his head and puts his mouth to Gavin's clothed chest, rolling the hard nub of one nipple between his fingers and pressing the flat of his tongue to the other. Gavin lets out a shuttered groan, his hands wandering up to Nines's shoulders.

Nines teases at both nipples unrelentingly, alternating his mouth between the two until the fabric is translucent with spit, clinging to their outline. Gavin starts to slide down against the door, legs turning to liquid. Nines has to wrap one arm around his waist to hold him up; it brings so much of them in contact, and Nines can feel every shiver running through Gavin's body, the shaky rise and fall of his ribcage as he draws a thirsty breath.

They both get a little lost in it. Gavin is draped in Nines's arms, abandoned to the electric sensations shooting from his chest to the base of his spine, and Nines can't stop wanting to coax more from him, eager to see how Gavin responds to each small shift in attention. He responds beautifully to everything Nines gives him. Just whines and takes it, the tip of Nines's tongue swirling around a quivering nub, the scrape of Nines's nails over the swollen point of it. Trembling when Nines blows a puff of air across the damp fabric.

Finally, Nines finds enough kindness in himself to take Gavin over the edge. He bites down on one nipple, closing his teeth against the small, stiff core of resistance there, as he pinches the other nipple and twists. Gavin, at least in this if not in all things, always does what Nines wants from him-- his mouth falls open on a wet moan, and he goes taut as a bowstring, arching helplessly into Nines. He shatters. Nines doesn't stop touching him through the aftershocks of his orgasm, stroking over his sensitized nipples until Gavin goes slack against him, reduced to tremors.

"Nines," exhales Gavin, head heavy on Nines's shoulder as he lowers them both to the floor.

"You were so good," Nines tells him, and Gavin makes a little noise, at that. "Can you keep going? Are you okay?"

"At least take me to bed, you fucking pervert," Gavin mutters indistinctly.

Nines belatedly wonders if his door provides any kind of soundproofing, or if he is now forever branded by his neighbors as the oversexed public nuisance who brings men home and can't even take them past the entryway before jumping their bones. He was about due for a move, anyway.

The look on Gavin's face suggests that he considers struggling, when Nines scoops him up. The expression fades into resignation as Gavin realizes that he would really prefer not to do his own walking at the moment, then into satisfaction as he decides that this is -- after a fashion -- Nines being forced to do physical labor on his behalf. Gavin is, on the whole, not very difficult to read. He slings his arms loosely around Nines's neck.

"What happens," asks Nines, "when it's too much for you to take?"

"What do you mean?" asks Gavin. "Like if you're more than I can handle? That's very presumptuous of you, Detective."

His use of the title sounds like flirting. Nines is pretty sure.

"I was top of my class in the Academy for sexual stamina," he informs Gavin.

"That's not a thing," says Gavin, disgusted. "Anyway, nothing catastrophic happens. I just go into stasis until my biocomponents cool down, maybe a few minutes. It's much less of an inconvenience than a forced shutdown."

"Has that happened to you much, the stasis thing?" asks Nines. He knows about the three forced shutdowns, but doesn't want to ask.

"I'm an android, it takes a whole fucking lot of persistence to get me to that point," says Gavin. "Not that humans can't be persistent. But I recover fast."

"Sounds like a challenge," remarks Nines. "Can you give me a number on how many orgasms that would take?"

"Uh, can you give me a number on those orgasms?" Gavin mimics. "That's the most _you_ thing to say about sex, you know that? Really kills the mood."

Nines is not a self-indulgent sort of person, but there are few things he hates more than feeling crowded and hemmed in. His California king mattress was the result of him caving in to this demand, but at this moment -- when he spills Gavin onto the bed, a bundle of lax limbs -- it is probably the proudest investment he has ever made. Despite his assertion about Nines killing the mood, Gavin is half-hard again with anticipation, legs parted messily the way he lands.

"No number," says Gavin, lifting his hips to let Nines get at the waist of his pants. "Just do your best and I'll be proud of you."

Nines makes quick work of Gavin's pants and socks, peels Gavin's sticky boxer briefs off of him. He takes a moment just to sit back on his heels and admire the view; Gavin's slick cock is a respectable heft at half-hard, looking firm and flushed as the rest of him. Most of all, it suits him. That, thinks Nines, is the most confounding thing about Gavin. Full of contradictions and inconsistencies like someone patched him together drunk, so unmanageable that deviancy didn't even begin to explain it, and yet-- it all suits him perfectly, just the way he is.

 _Guess I might be in trouble,_ thinks Nines, and doesn't mind it.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he says, "but I know that pleasure models usually have a-- are you, that is... self-lubricating?"

"That's hilarious," says Gavin. "Cyberlife went through all this effort to make me blend in with humans in the worst way possible, then gave me a self-lubricating ass. No, genius. Work me open like one of your French girls."

It's a heady mix of self-deprecation, disdain, and vulgar seduction. But a very Gavin mix. Nines grabs the bottle of lubricant from his bedside drawer -- it's not seen use for some time, but he knows the expiration date on every item in his house and he knows it's good to go -- and he kneels between Gavin's legs, one hand curled around a sinewy ankle.

"What?" asks Gavin. "What about--?" With the heel of his free foot, he rubs a circle into Nines's crotch over his pants, like he's testing the rigidity there. Nines is very hard, as it happens.

"I thought I'd get to that in time," he answers, somewhat strained.

"Your plan was to not get yourself off until I come two hundred times?" asks Gavin, incredulously.

"Is _that_ a number on the orgasms?" asks Nines. "Is that why your name is-- it's fine, you don't need to do anything. I'm enjoying just making you feel good."

"Charming," says Gavin, "but I want to. Unless you're worried you won't be able to get it up again."

"That's unlikely," says Nines, with confidence.

Gavin wants to. He scrambles up and kneels on the floor, quickly arranging Nines to his satisfaction. Nines ends up sitting on the edge of bed with his legs bracketing Gavin, and Gavin undoes Nines's belt and zipper with nimble fingers, his fine motor skills back to him. _Not lying about the fast recovery, then,_ thinks Nines. _Probably have to be relentless, if I want to push him to his limit._

As Nines mentally formulates his battle plan, Gavin crumples up Nines's pants and underwear to toss them to one side. Nines is willing to let that go, for the impressed look that passes over Gavin's features as he appreciates Nines's cock.

"Is that why _your_ name--" begins Gavin.

"No," says Nines. "Gavin, I wasn't born with a huge fucking adult-sized penis."

"Excuse me for defiling the memories of your infancy," says Gavin, places his hands on Nines's thighs, and takes him into his mouth.

Gavin's mouth is hot, even hotter than it felt when they kissed, and his tongue slides like velvet along the vein of Nines's erection. For fuck's sake. Gavin sucks cock like he was made to do it, which -- Nines realizes with a twinge of guilt -- is an unpleasant version of the truth. His traitorous cock shows no remorse, however, and might even grow a little thicker instead. Gavin hums as he purses his lips around it, eyes going hazy, head bobbing in a steady, hungry rhythm.

He pulls back until Nines's cock slips from his mouth, lets the head of it glide along the slight stubble of his cheek. That's not a texture Nines would have predicted himself liking, but his precum leaves a damp trail along Gavin's skin, and Gavin draws out his tongue to lap at the head of Nines's cock, slow and profane like he's savoring it.

"I want--" falters Nines, handing Gavin the bottle of lube, "let me... let me see you finger yourself."

Gavin doesn't even break stride at the request, just takes the lube and squeezes out two knuckles of it over his fingers, all the while tightly swallowing down the length of Nines's cock. Doesn't think twice. He reaches behind himself-- Nines can't see it, but he knows when Gavin pushes a finger inside himself, the whimper in his throat vibrating delicately up Nines's cock.

He's not shy about it, either. Gavin's eyes drift closed as he fucks himself on his fingers, making small, dreamy noises as he rolls his back into it. Nines can at least see the movement of Gavin's wrist behind the curve of his ass, feeling himself out, opening himself up so obediently for Nines. Gavin is this way, running very hot or cold; either lashing out with all his thorns at being told what to do, or -- like this -- taking Nines's breath away with just how eager he is to please.

It must be when Gavin stops just teasing himself and presses against his prostate-- he keens around his mouthful of Nines's cock, and his throat closes in like a sleek vice, wrapping around Nines. In the jolt that gives him, Nines forgets himself, bucking up into Gavin's mouth harder than he means to. He thinks Gavin will start coughing or gagging, push him away, but-- Gavin just lets his shoulders sag, wordlessly looking up at Nines through his lashes.

\-- _he wants_ \--

Gingerly at first, experimentally -- then, when it's clear it's welcome, in earnest -- Nines fucks Gavin's throat. Oh, holy shit. Gavin just lets himself be moved by Nines's hand threading through his hair, pliant in Nines's grip. Like he's trying to make up for the cock not filling his ass just yet, Gavin takes Nines down so well, the head of Nines's cock knocking against the back of his throat. _He'll bruise_ , thinks Nines, hazily. He couldn't stop if he were court-ordered to.

Nines lasts what he would maintain is a very appropriate amount of time, as long as anyone could possibly be expected to under the circumstances. He tries to warn Gavin when he feels his balls tighten up, _Gavin, I'm going to--,_ hurriedly patting Gavin's forearm resting against his thigh, but Gavin is having none of it. When Nines comes with a strangled groan, Gavin shivers, then after a beat, swallows.

" _Fuck_ ," says Nines.

Gavin pulls off of him with a gasp, a strand of spit following his retreating tongue. He draws his fingers from his ass and falls back, near collapses with his legs under him. When he can see straight again, Nines looks at Gavin-- at the flush down his throat to the neckline of his shirt, his chest heaving for air he doesn't even need, and his softening cock, still spasming from--

"You came," breathes Nines.

"Sorry, I--" Gavin clears his throat to get his voice back, but it's still rough when he tries again. "Sorry."

"Come here," says Nines, and when Gavin leans his head on his inner thigh, dabs at the corner of Gavin's spent mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Don't apologize, it's okay. You're perfect."

It might be a long-term project, this. How to get Gavin to believe that his responsiveness is not a bad thing, that it's a good thing, actually that it's very likely the _best_ thing Nines has encountered in his starched and buttoned-up life. But Gavin seems appeased at least for the moment, and Nines pulls him up by the wrist, pressing him back into the bed. Gavin goes down easy.

"Can't let you have all the fun," says Nines, drizzling the lube over his fingers. Gavin props his knees up without needing to be coaxed, his hole slick from his own efforts.

"Coming down my throat wasn't fun for you?" mumbles Gavin. "Sure seemed like you were into it."

"I want more," says Nines, tracing the rim of Gavin's hole. Gavin sucks in a sharp breath, sliding his feet wider. The sheets pull snug between them. "Give me all of it."

He starts with two fingers, inching them into the feverish clutch of Gavin's insides. Gavin is tight in a smooth, forgiving kind of way, pulsing around his digits but not rejecting them. Nines swallows dryly. He wants him so badly that he almost thinks he ought to be stopped, scared of his own want.

"Ah, _Nines_ ," Gavin whines at the meager contact, thrusting himself back onto Nines's hand. "Please."

"What's the rush," Nines asks him. Still with his fingers stroking inside Gavin, Nines leans over him, claiming his mouth with a languid kiss.

This, too, turns out to be a problem. When Nines licks inside his mouth, Gavin sighs and tightens deliciously around the fingers in his ass. It's driving Nines mad. Self-control is one of his strong suits; he may have said as much in his entrance exam interview, but he really doesn't want to think about his job right now, especially since that famous self-control has started fraying at a rapid rate. He concentrates on the flicker of Gavin's tongue, _make him feel good_.

"You're so hot inside," Nines says. "Are you overheating already?"

"No, but--" Gavin turns his head up to murmur against his lips, "--but make me."

Fuck Cyberlife and fuck Elijah Kamski and fuck the Detroit Police Department. Nines rucks up the hem of Gavin's shirt until it lies bunched up around his collarbone, baring his torso. His nipples are still rosy and taut from being teased earlier, following the rapid rise and fall of his chest, hard as little pearls. Nines nips at one, rolling it just hard enough then holding it there between his teeth.

" _Ah_ ," exclaims Gavin, and spasms inside like a dream. Then, when the clench makes him feel the shape of Nines's three fingers in him, a quieter, softer, "nn, _ah--_ "

Even before Nines searches out the nerves inside him, Gavin's cock is hard against his stomach again, the wet head of it smearing across his tense abdominal muscles. Gavin is begging for it, for him to go _deeper, please_ , but Nines holds out on him, waiting for the right moment, driving him right to the edge, just a little further.

"Nines," gasps Gavin, " _Nines_ , please."

"I will," Nines tells him, gently. "Hold on. You're doing so good."

Gavin's third climax overtakes him when Nines means for it to, with his tongue in Gavin's mouth, his nails dragging across Gavin's nipples, his fingers finally, soothingly, nudging into Gavin's prostate. Guiding him through the contractions, whispering encouraging nothings into his hairline. Gavin just moans his name like he's lost for any other words, _Nines,_ and Nines repeats, _I'm here_ , _it's okay_.

At last Gavin's cock gives a final twitch. He's streaked with come from his stomach up, strands splattered across his chest. He looks so good like this, spent beyond belief, slack under Nines's touch. Nines is about to step away for a tissue while Gavin catches his breath, but as he turns, Gavin grabs at his hand.

"Don't wait," says Gavin. "Fuck me. Make me--"

"--Is that okay?" asks Nines, haltingly.

"Yeah," exhales Gavin. "Please."

"But I need--" says Nines, reaching for his drawer again. Gavin meets Nines's eyes and shakes his head, sweat-damp hair mussing against the pillowcase.

"Don't use one," says Gavin. "Come inside me, I want to feel you."

Nines thinks he might explode. If he wasn't hard before -- which he most definitely was -- he is now. He's on Gavin again before either of them can change their mind, hitching Gavin's legs up over his shoulders, angling himself.

"I'm not going to stop," says Nines, a final note of caution.

Gavin just digs his heels into Nines's back and smiles. "Good," he says.

Nines sinks inside him, slowly but steadily, no pause like he warned, a solid push from tip to hilt. It is, _Gavin_ is-- indescribable. It's like he's swallowed up in hot satin, melting and throbbing around him. He dimly registers that he must be groaning something, _oh my god,_ not even fully aware of himself until his hips stutter against Gavin's ass.

Gavin, whose head is thrown back as shallow breaths slip from his lips, trembling to the tip of his chin, cock tapping against his abdomen.

"Gavin," says Nines, patting at his cheek. "Gavin, stay with me."

" _God,_ " Gavin chokes out after a few moments, burying the side of his face into the pillow. "Fuck."

"What was-- are you okay?" asks Nines.

"I'm," mumbles Gavin, "I think I came dry."

"Just from me pushing into you?" asks Nines, almost dreading the answer.

"Couldn't help it," says Gavin, closing his eyes tiredly. "You're too big."

There's a smirk hanging around at the corners of his mouth, because Gavin is a shit who knows exactly what that answer does to Nines. And it does do exactly that, as Nines feels all the remaining blood in his body rush to his cock, impossibly.

Nines pins Gavin to the bed by his wrists, almost bending him in half when he drives into him. Gavin's ass clings at him lovingly when he pulls back, though Nines is certain it must hurt for him, nearly rocked to the headboard with every thrust. But by the noises Gavin's making, Nines knows the rough must be good for him, too-- high, breathless little moans as Nines fucks unceasingly into him. Gavin takes it all so gorgeously.

"What was it like, with them?" Nines demands, his own voice harsh with exertion. "Did you enjoy it?"

It's a completely unfair question, Nines knows that. Gavin was handed over, used, broken again and again. Enjoyment was never part of the equation, he knows that. Eleven limbs, three forced shutdowns. A habit of apologizing for how they made him. Nines knows that. But the anxiety itches at his heart like a scab, that this is to Gavin nothing different from that; if Gavin might, in some distant future, speak of him in the same way. _He used me for whatever he could use me for._

"Nines, _ah,_ " groans Gavin, wincing.

"Did you enjoy it?" asks Nines.

Gavin doesn't answer, and that's about right, because it's not a question with any right answers. Eventually, he looks up into Nines's eyes. Gavin should be angry, but he isn't. Nines doesn't know why not.

"What do you want to hear," Gavin asks him, so quiet and serious it aches.

That was how selfish it was, that question. It didn't have any right answers, and Nines didn't even want to hear anything in return. Just asked it, like saying it out loud would do something-- because saying it would hurt Gavin, and he wanted to share the hurt, afraid of having nothing else.

"Nothing," says Nines, hollow. "I don't... want you to think about what it was like."

Gavin takes Nines's hand from above his head, brings it down to his own mouth. He presses his lips to Nines's knuckles.

"I don't," says Gavin, softly. "You shouldn't have asked. Now start-- start fucking moving again or I'll really get mad at you."

Nines doesn't know when he's stilled, but he's brought back to the sprawl of Gavin's body beneath his. Nicked with scars all over, limbs eight through eleven, would be stashed in an evidence locker somewhere if the higher-ups hadn't been so concerned about the operating budget. But he's here. Gavin is here, warm and solid. Prodding at Nines's back with his heels in mock irritation.

"--Sorry," murmurs Nines, "I'm sorry," trying as well to apologize through some sort of kindness in his motion, though slamming his cock into Gavin's prostate isn't exactly a Hallmark articulation of tenderness. Gavin seems perfectly okay with the proxy expression of sentiment.

"It's okay," he says, and shudders at a particularly deep thrust. " _There,_  again, ah--"

"Tell me you're mine," says Nines.

"I've been trying, you dense fuck, shit for brains," says Gavin, halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Haven't I been trying?"

"Tell me," pleads Nines.

"I'm yours," gasps Gavin, flushed so dark it looks like he's burning up. " _Nines_."

Nines bites down on a wounded sound, buries his face in Gavin's neck as he comes. Gavin jerks at the sensation of Nines's come filling him, mouths _yes_ against Nines's temple. His LED is a sear across the bedroom ceiling, cutting through Nines's eyelids. All Nines hears is the rushing of his own blood for a few seconds, then bit by bit, rustle by rustle, it comes back -- the pounding of his heart, the whir of Gavin's pump, the wash of their unsteady breathing -- and Gavin calling, _Nines? Nines._

"Yeah," says Nines. "Good. I'm good."

"Don't die on top of me," says Gavin. "At least touch my cock before you do, that seems like common courtesy."

"Right, yes," says Nines, and draws himself out of Gavin with a herculean effort, Gavin shivering and making small broken sounds the whole way. Gavin's insides envelop him to the last moment, mourning the departure like a loss, and really Nines would like nothing more than to stay buried inside him until they're both mummified there in his bed as a memorial to the dangers of fantastic sex-- which carries with it the bonus benefit that it would profoundly appall his fellow officers and haunt their memories until death.

"Miss that cock already," says Gavin, with a lazy heat.

Nines lowers Gavin's legs to the bed, hovers over the still-hard length of Gavin's cock. He bends and wraps his lips around the head of it; Gavin swears, loudly, and arches up like he's been shocked.

"Hold still," Nines tells him, and presses two fingers back inside of Gavin, where he's slick with come and lube. "Let me clean you up."

"You, _ah,_ you don't need," moans Gavin, fisting his hands in the sheets as Nines takes him in his mouth.

He's not entirely sure what the chemical composition of android ejaculate is, but the consistency isn't so different from human semen. Just somewhat less of any kind of flavor, in general. It's a largely unobjectionable taste, and he'd put up with a lot worse for the helpless open look on Gavin's face as he whimpers at the feeling of Nines's mouth, at the fingers coaxing the come out of him.

Gavin's ass grips around Nines's fingers with each swirl of his tongue, surging close. Nines tries to calm Gavin somehow in between licking stripes up his cock, _shh, I got you,_ but every whisper just makes Gavin go tight again, like it's dirty talk between them instead of reassurance. Anything at all that Nines says, anywhere he touches him, Gavin responds like he's been scalded.

"Please," sobs Gavin, spread out against the sheets. "Nines, _please_."

 _So good_ , thinks Nines. _So good for me._

He strokes inside Gavin slow and deep, his come dripping onto the bed and the cupped palm of his hand. Gavin feels every second of it, every crook of his fingers. When Nines finally hollows his cheeks around Gavin's cock and _sucks_ \-- simultaneously petting that pebbled spot inside him -- Gavin, as always, does exactly what he's asked for.

" _Nines,_ " he gasps, so sweetly, "Nines, _ah-- Nines_ \--"

Gavin arches off the bed -- tossing his head back with a breathy cry that's more animal noise than not, spending what's left of his come into Nines's mouth in hot spurts -- then shudders, with a faint crackle of static -- and goes completely limp.

Nines hasn't planned whether to spit or not, but he's too concerned about Gavin to look for a tissue. He swallows.

"Gavin?" he asks.

No answer. It seems, indeed, that he has done it. Lighting up the tear-blushed corners of Gavin's closed eyes, his LED flickers once, then spins a cool, clean blue. Somewhere in his head, beneath the wreck of his hair, something clicks and hums in gradual reboot.

"Gavin," says Nines, now just to hear the name in his mouth.

Few minutes' stasis, Gavin said. That's enough time to wipe him down, start to put him back together again. Nines drags his fingers out of Gavin's ass, and even unconscious, Gavin trembles and moans quietly at the feeling. Nines gathers Gavin's dead weight into his arms, dabbing away the streaks of come painting his stomach and chest. Brings a dampened towel to take care of what's dried. Has to summon every last bit of self-control not to molest Gavin, when the cool wet edge of the towel brushes across Gavin's peaked nipples and Gavin turns his head into Nines's chest, letting out a soft, lost, _ah--._

By the time Gavin stirs, eyes fluttering open, everything's back in reasonable order. The sheets are filthy, but-- even Nines, immaculate he, can't bring himself to change them at the moment. Gavin blinks hazily, like trying to bring his vision back into focus.

"Hey," says Nines.

"Hey yourself," says Gavin, voice just a rasp. "Guess what."

"What?" asks Nines.

"I didn't hate that," says Gavin.

A lot of things are on the tip of Nines's tongue. _I must have really broken you,_ or _thanks, me too,_ but when he slings an arm over Gavin's waist all that ends up coming out is, "stay while I sleep. Please."

Gavin stares at him like Nines is the strangest, dumbest, greatest thing he's ever seen.

"Why would I leave?" asks Gavin.

  


A long while back, before there was even a _them_ \-- before there was a first time -- Nines and Gavin waited on a front porch in the late afternoon winter sun, idle while the forensics lab first combed through the crime scene inside. On the railing of the deck where he sat, feet dangling above the remains of a trampled garden, Gavin ran a hand through his hair beneath the hood of his jacket.

"People have been talking," he said, conversationally. "About us."

"What?" Nines turned to him. "Who?"

"Just people," said Gavin. "From the precinct. It's nothing important, but-- thought you might want to be aware."

"What are they saying?" asked Nines.

"It's pretty complimentary towards you, actually," said Gavin. "Seems like you earned yourself a lot of respect for-- how do I put this delicately, uh... making an android your bitch. Some people on the force still like that sort of thing. Like to see an android owned."

"An android? ...You?" Nines frowned. "They can't say that, you're a fellow officer. You're not property, none of you are. This is-- it's cause for disciplinary action, they shouldn't be saying that. I'm going to write up a report."

"No, it's fine," said Gavin. "There's no need to do that."

"Are you sure?" asked Nines, because it seemed that protocol still mattered to him, more than whatever personal objections he had about Gavin's suitability as a police officer.

"I'm sure," said Gavin. "Anyway, if it pissed me off, I wouldn't have come to you about it. I would have taken care of it."

"...Look, GV200," said Nines, cautiously. "You might hate it as much as I do that we've been designated partners, and we can certainly blame Fowler for that-- but it's still partnership. It's not about owning, that's not what this is. You know that, right?"

"It's fine," said Gavin, again. "I don't mind."

Nines didn't look wholly satisfied, but at that moment, a voice called from inside the house. _Detective Nines_ , someone was shouting. _You need to take a look at this._

"I'll be right there," Nines shouted back.

That wasn't what this was, exactly, but that didn't mean it wasn't anything. Maybe it wasn't about owning, not in the way that the rumors meant it, but it was some sort of-- or at least, to Gavin, it was--

Nines turned the knob and pushed, then paused in the open doorway, looking back over his shoulder at Gavin.

"You coming?" he asked.

"Of course," said Gavin.

Nines stepped inside. Gavin followed him, half a step behind.

 _I'm yours_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well well well it seems that GV200 was a hopeless romantic all along eh
> 
> Scream with me at idiopathology dot tumblr dot com. This story was written in loving memory of David Cage.


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